A ‘PHONE CALL, late last Friday, changed my weekend plans. I was needed at “The Mansion” at 10 AM Saturday. My reply made the manager of the home laugh. It wasn’t a laughing matter.
The two hour drive to Olinda in the Dandenong ranges and then on a dirt road to “The Mansion” would have been nice on a dry, sunny day. Mud and water splashed from potholes I couldn’t avoid and made a mess of the $50 hand carwash as the road narrowed and ended at an impressive entrance to what many years ago had been a private estate. I parked behind the police car and walked the few steps up to the front door.
“The sergeant is waiting for you in the library,” the receptionist said by way of a good morning. She wasn’t happy which meant the manager of the home wouldn’t be happy either. My feelings? I put my annoyance aside and would be the solicitor and mediator who would hopefully get the complaint withdrawn. I might get a free lunch and all would have a good weekend or what was left of it.
Mrs. Grinthorpe, the manager, got to the point quickly in a manner I had learnt to respect. “Mrs. Nettlefold has made a complaint against Mr. Albert Marchant,” she declared.
“A complaint. Then why are the police here?” I asked.
“To investigate the complaint,” Sergeant Kingston replied. “And lay charges if called for.”